


Tabula Rasa

by Always_Bottom_Derek



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Derek Hale, Dark Jordan Parrish, Dirty Talk, Gaslighting, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, Hurt Derek Hale, M/M, Manipulative Jordan Parrish, Mind Control, Nonconsenual Touch, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spells & Enchantments, filming without consent, sedation/drugging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-28 20:59:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18213551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Bottom_Derek/pseuds/Always_Bottom_Derek
Summary: Parrish is on night patrol when he finds Derek on one of his backroad routes.Caught in his headlights, emerging from the side road brush and out of the blue, Derek stumbles in front of his cruiser. Werewolf or not, the idiot almost gets flattened.Outside his rig, once the adrenaline slows in his veins, it doesn’t take Jordan long to realize something is very wrong. Hale is shirtless, his muscled torso covered in shallow slashes, but this isn’t what worries him. The wounds are superficial and most have already stopped bleeding.What’s more disconcerting is the way Derek shivers despite the warm autumn air and how he is so absolutely wide-eyed and lost looking.It gets worse when their eyes meet.





	1. A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IcyCryos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyCryos/gifts).



> Going through folders on my computer and tidying up old files I came across this. Hope you like it.

Parrish is on night patrol when he finds Derek on one of his backroad routes.  
  
Caught in his headlights, emerging from the side road brush and out of the blue, Derek stumbles in front of his cruiser. Werewolf or not, the idiot almost gets flattened.  
  
Outside his rig, once the adrenaline slows in his veins, it doesn’t take Jordan long to realize something is very wrong. Hale is shirtless, his muscled torso covered in shallow slashes, but this isn’t what worries him. The wounds are superficial and most have already stopped bleeding.  
  
What’s more disconcerting is the way Derek shivers despite the warm autumn air and how he is so absolutely wide-eyed and lost looking.  
  
It gets worse when their eyes meet.

“I know you!” Derek blurts out.

Stunned by the queerness of this declaration all Jordan can do is arch a brow and nod at first.

“Of course you do.”

“Do you want to hurt me too?”

This second question takes Parrish equally aback, but not for the reasons one might expect. His mind has to do a quick double take because he’s a man with a lot of secrets, even more so now that he’s made his hellhound shift, living a life filled with ever-darkening desires no one knows about.

And Derek Hale features in more than a few of these.

He avoids a direct ‘no’ to sidestep the lie. “Don’t be stupid, Derek.”

His casual dismissal is more effective than he hoped for. There’s a surprising flash of hurt on Derek’s face. Then the werewolf cocks his head, looks confused, and sniffles.

“I’m Derek and I’m...  I’m stupid?”

Derek’s eyes drop away when he says this and in the cruiser’s headlights, Parrish notes the uncomfortable blush filling his cheeks. He experiences a rush of heat himself seeing tears well in Derek’s eyes. It’s a beautiful look on him.

“Derek Hale, yeah. And you’re not the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to staying out of trouble, but I always thought you’d at least remember your own name.”

It’s the kind of ribbing banter he’s used to exchanging with Derek. Only after he says it he suddenly realizes the wolf actually doesn’t remember. And that’s not the only thing amiss.

This truth cements when rather than go surly, Derek drops he head and apologizes.

“I sorry… You’re right. I am stupid, I guess. Cause I did forget it… My own name. I mean.”

Derek blinks a bit. “I’m Derek Hale…” Relief washes over his face and a few fat tears roll down his cheeks. “Yeah… Derek Hale. That’s me.” There’s a little lilt of question there still.

“No… Look, I’m the one that’s sorry,” Jordan offers back aware now something big has happened. He feels a conflicting mix of worried and turned on. “I shouldn’t be giving you a hard time when you’re hurt and… _confused_.”

His voice is much gentler and the shift in Derek’s body language at this new tone is profound. Some of the tension leaves his broad shoulders.

Going off a hunch, Jordan says, “Look, in case you’ve forgotten this too, I’m Jordan Parrish.”

Derek leans forward towards him hopefully, looking somehow almost innocent despite his age and bad boy stubble.

“And from what I know, there’s an awful lot of humans and other things that seem inclined to hurt you.”

Before tonight, the Derek he knows would probably give a bitter laugh at this. Instead, the werewolf just stares at him intently, worried furrows forming on his brow as he takes the information in.

“But I‘m not one of them,” Parrish offers.

Green eyes grow glassy once more and Derek shivers harder but Jordan’s more focused on the fact he didn’t appear to hear the lie in his words. Because he’s wanted to hurt Derek in very particular ways for a long time now.

Pushing his wondering about this new lie-deafness aside, Parrish hopes he’ll have the chance to test it more later. Right now, there’s more pressing matters to deal with.

“Do you know how you ended up here? On this road. Were you running away from something? Do you remember that, maybe?”

He asks because, of course, Hale is always running from something ( _always_ ) and Parrish realizes while they’ve been standing here establishing Derek doesn’t know who he is, whatever nasty is after him has probably been making good time.

He sighs when Derek nods his head in the affirmative.

“So you do remember something, then?”

Derek hesitates and offers an apprehensive shrug. “No. Not really. But it sounds right somehow.”

“Well that’s not helpful. Look, you have to tell me what you remember. so we know what we’re up against.”

Wincing at this sharper tone, Derek presses bloody fingers to his temples and closes his eyes. “I.. They… They’re gone. I dunno... “ Fresh tears roll down dirty cheeks. “I think… I think I hurt them?”

Parrish’s relief that he may not have to wrestle with any bad guys but himself tonight evaporates and he freezes when, after saying this, Derek flings himself into his stunned arms and starts quietly sobbing. Something twists, hot, hard and dark in his gut at this and Jordan is not nearly as mortified as he should be when blood thrums into his dick.

Keeping their hips apart he rubs rough awkward circles over Derek’s bare shoulders in his best pantomime of soothing. But even as he’s settling him down, his mind keeps returning to how, bloody or not, the werewolf’s night-cooled flesh feels perfect under his hand.

* * *

It takes some coaxing but eventually, Parrish gets the full story or as much of the story as Derek remembers. It’s not a lot to go on, beyond the werewolf waking up with no memories of anything to people hurting him and trying to get away from the pain.

Once he figures he has about as much information as he’s going to get, he gets Derek settled in the squad car.

No easy thing, this, because the guy doesn’t want to let go of him. Finally, extricated from Derek’s koala grip, after securing promises he won’t get out of the vehicle, Parrish leaves Derek in the back seat with a blanket around his shoulders still sniffling.

Flashlight in hand Jordan drops over the side of the road Derek bolted out from. About 40 feet into the scrub he sees the remnants of a ritual.

The wolf hadn’t mentioned this.

There are bottles and vials, discarded syringes, broken ropes, cryptic marks scratched in the dirt, some obliterated by signs of struggle, and bloody, empty clothes strewn around a dying fire.

The hellhound puts a scenario together: Derek captured, drugged, being spelled on by some magical evil-doers, the wolf breaking free, wreaking havoc. In other words a typical Derek Hale Friday night.

Pulling a latex glove out of his back pants pocket, he is soon poking at a gore-soaked scrap with latexed fingers. Derek said he might have “hurt” whoever had been hurting him, but it’s clear he’s done far more than that.

Given the blood, the piles of shredded clothes, the weird bits of ash covering the ground, whoever or whatever the wolf killed, it seems their remains disintegrated once they were slain. Because, well, at least under his flashlight’s beam, Jordan finds no bloody trails to indicate they bolted from a losing battle bare ass naked.

An old book lies open near one pile of rags. The text isn’t English. Latin maybe? There are some words underlined in what looks like old blood. Parrish quietly sounds them out before snapping the book closed.

He kicks dirt over the fire’s embers until he’s sure they’re smothered before walking away, flashlight in one hand, the book in the other.

He should go back and grab a trash bag from the trunk, gather the clothes and other shit up for evidence. Instead, he forgoes this, deciding to just head back to the car. Whatever died here, from what he’s seen and what Derek told him, it appears to have deserved it.

Call him callous, but he’s lived in Beacon hills so long now abandoning this crime scene doesn’t bother his conscience. (Secretly, not a whole lot does these days, really.) Plus, he has a traumatized werewolf in the back of his car he should haul into town. And he can’t even begin to guess how he’d fill out out the paperwork on something like this.

* * *

“So?”

Deaton frowns at Parrish’s tone. Rather than answer, his eyes dart back and forth between Derek’s blanket-wrapped form sitting a dozen feet away from them, rocking back forth silently on the metal examination table, and the book on the counter in front of him.

Parrish huffs audibly at the silence until finally, Deaton sighs. The vet looks at Derek again, who hasn’t said a word since he was brought in.

“Has he said anything since you found him?”

“Ummm… He… uh… He said he didn’t remember who he was.” Of course, this sentence completely downplays what actually happened.

Even more so, it doesn’t address at all what transpired when Parrish returned from his foray. The way Derek bolted from the car and into his arms, his hard body shuddering with fresh sobs. The broken whispers, “ _I was so scared you weren’t coming back. Please, please don’t leave me again.”_

Deaton’s voice intrudes, pulling Jordan back to the present.

“Ah… That helps. The page you indicated, there are two rituals spelled out here. They’ve been written so closely together, and both underlined by the same hand, so unless one’s fluent it looks like the same entry.”

“What are the two spells?”

“Well, one is for…” Deaton frowns, thinking about how to explain it.

“Well, like a sort of an imprinting… It creates a false bond in the spelled person. It integrates an unaffiliated individual intimately into the spellee’s psyche.”

Deaton nods over to Derek. “Based on what you said though, we know that’s one not likely been cast… or at least not to completion”

When Jordan looks confused he elaborates.

“You see, with that kind of thing, the victim bonds with the first person they see once the spell’s been completed… It creates instant dependence. And  after that, to the enchanted person, any separation in the settling phase is abhorrent.

“And you said when you found him, he was completely alone…”

“Yes.” Jordan omits the evidence he found in the clearing, glad Deaton doesn’t have a werewolf’s hearing.  “I mean, it’s lucky that I even found him at all, out in the sticks like that.”

“Yes. Lucky, indeed,” Deaton agrees though his dark eyes study Jordan with far too much intensity for his comfort. “Especially since, if it had been fully cast, Derek never would have been able to get away.

“No… he could never have stood to be alone and separated from the spell’s caster once the rite had been completed.”

Likely misreading Parrish’s expression as the deputy recalls the way Derek acted when he returned to the cruiser, Deaton nods, frowns, then and glances back over at Derek.

“We don’t know who wanted Derek, or for what… But I can tell you enchantments like that are potent and frequently abused.”

Deaton sets the book down to fill a syringe of werewolf sedative. Which is good because he misses the flash of dark interest on Jordan’s face.

“Who knows what could have happened to him if he hadn’t run into you. Particularly, given the other spell. The one that it seems he _is_ suffering from.”

“And what’s that?”

Deaton doesn’t miss a beat as he pulls the plunger to draw a thick red substance into the syringe canister. “It’s a _tabula rasa_ spell. A sort of mind wipe. Though more specialized.”

The vet caps the needle and starts in Derek’s direction. Parrish reaches out a hand to stop him.

“I’m going to need more info than that, Doc.”

Deaton frowns and then sighs again. “Yes, I suppose you are. Since you’re going to look after him until it passes.

“Well, that particular spell doesn’t wipe the affected individual completely. But it erases selected memories, bypasses ingrained traits, and, for a period of time, leaves the enchanted subject open to suggestion and infinitely malleable.

“Under this spell, until it’s run its course, someone could literally re-write Derek’s entire history. Re-shape his personality.”

“Would that last bit really be a bad thing?” Parrish jokes although his mind reels with this information.

“This is serious, Deputy,” Deaton frowns, clearly unamused. “Right now the wrong person could infiltrate his life. Turn him into anything. Made before the spell’s conditioning window runs out, any changes to him would likely be irreversible.”

It’s hard for Parrish to keep his excitement in check hearing this, because he’s quite sure, unbeknownst to Deaton, the two spells have both been activated. The mind-wipe just before he found Derek, the imprinting spell just after he’d read the book out loud at the ritual site.

Hell’s gates open in his heart at the idea he has a blank slate werewolf bonded to him. A mind he can shape to please him in the body he’s wanted to own for ages… The possibilities overwhelm. He’s so lost in sudden wicked dreamings he starts when Deaton brushes past him with the shot.

“I’ll walk you through how this should be handled. You’re going to need to watch over him carefully...” the Vet mumbles heading towards Derek. “Your poor attempt at humor aside, as you said, Derek’s very fortunate he ran into you.”

It’s a good thing Deaton’s back is turned to Parrish because the deputy’s flushed face and dilated pupils broker disagreement.

“Derek…”

Green eyes, wide but hazy, meet Deaton’s as he draws up to him. The rocking stops.

“Like Jordan said earlier, Derek, I’m here to help you.”

Derek shivers and hugs his wrapped arms tighter around himself before he hesitantly nods.

“So, now I’m going to give you a shot that’s going to make you relax. You’re going to get sleepy. And we’re going to have to keep this pattern of injections up for a time.”

Deaton talks to Derek like he’s speaking to someone simple. “Shots and sleeping. Okay?”

Again Derek’s dark head bobs.

“Good. After this first shot, Deputy Parrish here will take you home. He’s going to stay with you and give you a couple more of these injections to help you staying sleeping. Hopefully, by the time you wake up, the spell will have worn off and everything will be as it should again.”

As a result of the hex, without his practiced guard up, Derek’s normally solemn face is remarkably expressive. Despite his earlier silent agreement, his eyes flash between Deaton and the syringe and over to Parrish, wide and fearful.

“Jordan?… ”

His tone is still wonderfully low, but it's soft now too and there’s a beautiful beg in it. To make matters worse Derek blushes. He curls in on himself and rubs his shoulders nervously. Every one of these actions sets Jordan’s balls throbbing. It’s such a gorgeous shy submission to behold, acted out with Derek’s big hard alpha body.

He smiles with a compassion he doesn’t feel at all and says, “It okay, Derek. Just a little prick. Nothing that’ll really hurt you.”

Derek dips his head. “Okay…” But the fear is still there, strong, when his eyes dart back over to Deaton.

“Deputy, as you’re going to be administering these to him at home, why don’t you give him this first one too. So I can observe you. Make sure you have it down.”

Deaton has no idea what he’s doing as he passes over the syringe. More than willing, Parrish steps up. When he draws close, Derek eagerly leans forward and presses his forehead into his shoulder hiding his eyes from the needle.

Parrish swabs Derek’s bicep with alcohol and then ‘accidently’ knocks over the bottle. Deaton grunts and after righting the tipped container turns away to grab some a towel to wipe up the spill. As he does, Parrish quickly depresses the plunger and loses more than half the sleeper cocktail before sticking the needle in Derek’s arm.

The wolf emits a tiny whimper that turns Parrish’s cock to iron. It’s the soundtrack of his fantasies. Well, this and far louder exclamations. Fuck, but he’s wanted to live in a world filled with those sounds.

And now he knows he will.

Shot finished, he hands the syringe back to Deaton who compliments him on the job.

“Aww… Derek was the one who really did good here,” Parrish says patting Derek’s shoulder in his best imitation of humble helper.

Deaton wanders off, mumbling about writing down specific directions on what not to say or talk about for the next seventy-two hours in the moments Derek is lucid. While he’s scratching away in his notebook,  reflexively Jordan’s hands find the back of Derek’s dark head and cradle it.

Parrish wonders if this gesture leaves Derek feeling as comforted as it makes him feel possessive. The answer would seem to be ‘yes’ when automatically Derek nuzzles into his chest with a quiet sigh.


	2. Welcome Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This fic takes a hard sharp turn into a darkness here it's not going to recover from. I have done my best to tag it appropriately. With those tags and this note, you're at the wheel of your own vehicle, dear reader. So if this twist sends you careening off track, it's not my driving.

Parrish opens the loft’s door with the key he found in Derek’s front jean pocket. It’s a bit of a trick to unlock, since in his arms he’s also propelling over 200+ pounds of sleepy werewolf.

Once inside, he switches on a couple lights. Squinting, Derek scans the surroundings. Deaton said it would take a while for the shot to take effect but even at half-dose he seems exhausted. Already his eyes are so heavy he's blinking.

“Where are we?”

While Derek sat silent, strapped in and half-dozing in the passenger seat beside him, all the way over to the loft Jordan schemed as he drove. He has his plan down now. With the wolf bonded to him and open to his every suggestion, all he has to do is carefully guide their conversation until his place in Derek’s life is cemented.

“This is your house.”

“It is?” Derek peers into the open space dazedly.

“Well, ours, actually. I just haven’t moved my stuff in yet.” 

Derek’s forehead wrinkles in bleary confusion.

“You don’t recall it right now, but you’ve been begging me for months to move in with you and I’d finally said yes a couple of days ago. How could I not, when you’ve been complaining about how you hate being alone so much. After all, I’ve always tried to be the very best boyfriend to you that I can.”

“Boyfriend?”

The word rouses Derek a bit. He shakes his head slightly. That must make him dizzy the way he winces.

“You’re my boyfriend? I’m gay?” Some part of his mind seems to know he isn’t, but either the spell or the diluted sedative in his blood tamps its voice down.

“What do you think I was doing out in the middle of nowhere?” Parrish lies, “I was looking for you.

“Got so worried when I showed up here earlier for our date and you were gone. You never go anywhere without telling me these days. Hell, you hardly ever even leave this loft unless I make you.”

“Seriously, you don’t remember that?…   _Us?_ … At all?” Parish makes sure to sound wounded and Derek bites his bottom lip worriedly in response.

“The way you grabbed me when I found you. The way you acted at Deaton’s when I held you… I assumed you remembered that much at least.”

Jordan arranges his face in an expression of betrayal as heavy-lidded green eyes find his, seeking.

“Of all the things you might possibly remember... I was sure it would be how much you love me. After all, you pursued me for months. Never saw such a  silly lovesick puppy. It was sweet but kind of pathetic, really.

“But that’s you… Sweet, pathetic… Also pretty but a little thick. Good thing you were so persistent. You wore me down eventually.”

“You begged me to go out with you. You were so excited when I finally accepted despite me knowing how filthy you’d been. You cried, actually, you were so happy. But then your tears have always come easy.

“So emotional, my sweet bitch.”.

Derek lurches from his arms to grab the edge of his couch, clearly seeking other support at these revelations. “I need to sit…” He mumbles dropping down onto it heavily.

Parrish towers over him, enjoying the added height this gives.

“You seriously don’t remember when I finally agreed to go out with you? Of course, we've still been keeping it a secret. After all, in my position as a deputy, I can’t risk my reputation… What would people say knowing I hooked up with the town slut?”

“I’m gay?" Derek drops his head and clumsily rubs his temples before looking up again. "And I’m a slut?”

“Hmmm...” His drugged expression is uncertain but it’s clear he’s having trouble forming words, the drug in his veins continuing to take over. But that’s okay: Jordan is happy to provide all the words Derek needs for him.

“Well, not anymore. You promised you’d do anything to be with me. Reserve all your whorish energies for my direction. Reform yourself under my guidance to become worthy. Obey me completely.

“It’s taken a lot of hard work on my end and a lot of punishments on yours, let me tell you. But I love how grateful you’ve always been since I took pity on you and made you mine. ” Parrish pauses here to let Derek process.

Derek absorbs this torrent of words, his dark head gradually bobbing in drowsy agreement. Parrish praises him softly for it. Telling him he knows it’s a lot to take in for someone who doesn’t remember anything. Especially someone who’s “not super bright.”

Informed of his debauched past and his lover’s patience Derek’s eyes well with tears of gratitude, especially now that he has permission to cry easily.

“Thank you, Jordan, for accepting me.” His words are heavily slurred.  “And helping me when I can’t remember things. What… What would I do without you?”

“Well, you’re welcome, sweetheart. And I’m used to it by now -- helping you think. Even before tonight.” Parrish chuckles. “Don’t know what you’d do without me to tell you things, to be honest. But I know it wouldn’t be good.”

Derek sniffles. “Not good,” he echoes looking newly sad and worried.

“Fortunately, you won’t have to find out as long as you mind me.” Parrish ruffles his fingers through Derek’s damp bangs, the wolf radiates a low feverish heat.

“And maybe I won’t have to  tell you quite as many things in a couple of days. If, like Deaton says, once you have some sleep and wake up, you’ll remember everything you need to.”

Derek snuffles his snot in and nods against his hand. Parrish knows he’s made his point, but he wants to drive it home further.

“Yes, you were such a needy bottom bitch. Hating yourself for how much you craved dick once you tasted it.” He nods to emphasize his words.  It thrills watching the wolf’s mind arrange itself around the lies he’s feeding it.

Though he can barely contain his glee, Parrish keeps his expression serious while Derek stares hazily up at him from under his hand. As though being reminded of a favorite flavor, Derek’s tongue flickers out to drunkenly swipe at his lips.

“Yeah,  you swore off women after that disastrous relationship with Kate Argent. Started offering your ass or mouth to anyone who’d take it.

“I always thought that was just a way to fill the void left in you after you killed your whole family.”

It’s a risky move saying this but Deaton told him Derek’s most powerful memories would come back to him first and easiest. It may be premature but Parrish doesn’t want Derek accessing the fire without him.

And Parrish knows from his time on the force the most effective way to get someone to believe a lie is to mix just enough truth into it.

“Oh god…”

Derek remembers and it’s like watching a tsunami make landfall: just the most gorgeous, powerful devastation. He crumples under its waves bursting into tears, suddenly crying so hard he’s breathless.

Parrish grabs Derek and pulls him up off the couch into his arms in a crushing embrace. Deaton warned him of the dangers of bringing such potent memories up inadvertently without the rest of Derek’s life to anchor them. But he plans to ensure he’s Derek’s anchor from now on.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, I got you. We both know it was all your fault, but unlike the rest of this town, all your phony ‘friends’ and pretend sympathizers, I truly forgave you.”

It’s such a rush when Derek wraps powerful arms around his neck and clings. “And that’s why I make your decisions for you now. So you don’t have the chance to make such stupid mistakes.

"I’m the only one you can trust to really look out for you. The only one you can depend on. And I’m gonna make sure you never have to be so lonely, ever again.”

Derek whimpers. Pathetic. Grateful. Beautiful.

“I was… so stupid. So lonely… Thank you, Jordy...”

“Shhhh…" The new nickname sets Jordan's blood aflame. "That’s all behind you. The only thing you have to worry about now is making me happy. And if you’re a good boy, it’s easy.”

Half-dragging Derek across the book-strewn front room, he leads them over to the bed. It’s unmade. This will have to change in terms of “good boy” things. He likes his house kept tidy.

Derek clutches to him, but finally relents when he’s told to let go. He stays still but for his shivering where he’s set on the edge of the bed.

“So much drama tonight, huh?” Parrish chuckles looking down at his devastated prize. “Bet you’re exhausted.” Derek gives him a weary, broken nod. “Yeah, Deaton said you should get as much rest as possible the next few days.

“Gotta get you in bed first before that can happen.”

This is what he’s been waiting for, Jordan thinks, as he plucks at the fabric at the shoulder of the extra uniform shirt he dressed Derek in for the ride home from the vet’s.

“Why don’t you get out of those clothes so you’re comfortable. I know how you hate wearing anything when you’re home.”

He shoots Derek a wink to lighten the mood. “Unless, of course, it’s one of the special outfits I bought for you.”

Clumsy fingers  instantly fumble with the buttons.

“Want some help taking that off, champ?”

Parrish grins when heavy hands immediately thunk down by Derek’s sides. His new boyfriend stays wonderfully still while he undoes the buttons and pushes the shirt down off Derek’s shoulders, relishing the slow unwrapping of the amazing gift the night brought him.

Most all the cuts on Derek’s torso have healed by now. Only a few pink welts remain where the scores to his skin were deepest.  Outside of these, his chest is smooth. Given how hairy the rest of him is, Jordan thinks that he must shave it.

It looks good like that, the glow of his plump, bare pecs in the loft’s dim lighting. He’s gonna make sure Derek knows to keep himself that way. The rest of his body too. All of it.

There’s a vulnerability in being denuded and he wants Derek vulnerable. He should be the only thing standing between his bitch and the elements.

With Derek’s arms still trapped in the sleeves of his half-doffed shirt, Jordan takes the opportunity to brush over a dark nipple. Derek’s breath catches and he laughs.

“I love that I get to touch you however I want.” Parrish stares into sleepy, tear-reddened eyes. “That’s part of our agreement. Besides, you love it. This especially.” He dusts a fingertip over the hardened bud once more and Derek whines.

“Such a fucking titty whore. The tiniest touch making you hard. Leaving your dick leaking.”

Power like a shot of whiskey burns the hellhound’s throat and warms his belly, watching the front of Derek’s jean’s twitch as his dick hardens instantly adjusting to its new truth.

His fingers land on Derek’s nipple again, only this time he pinches it hard enough to bruise. Derek moans loudly and his head falls backward, eyes rolling up into his skull in ecstasy. A dark stain spills across taut, dirty denim as his dick weeps.

“That’s right. So fucking sensitive. I can make you cum just by pulling these pretty titties. And Remember how we’ve talked about getting them pierced? How much you loved that idea?”

Parrish moves to the other side to grab and twist Derek’s other nipple. Gasping for breath, Derek’s Adam’s bobs in his bared throat. His hips give a jerk and then he’s cumming.

“Fuck. Look at my dirty boy… Just like I said. Such a slut.”

Parrish releases Derek’s nipple to press his broad palm between plump pecs. He’s gonna have to talk to the wolf later about upping his workouts because he’s always thought his bitch should have nice big tits and, while large, Derek’s could definitely be bigger.

For now though, rather than say this, he’s content to give Derek a push and watch his broad shoulders fall back bonelessly against the mattress.

“Yeah, you loved that idea. The piercing.” His fingers go to work opening up Derek’s jeans. “I admit, the first time you stripped for me I was surprised a deviant like you wasn’t marked up already.

“But I think we both know even when you were acting like a bitch in heat, subconsciously you were waiting for me.”

Lying there, his breathing still ragged from his climax, Derek offers no resistance. Parrish stops for a moment to admire his crotch as soon as he’s unzipped finding him brief-free, his well-trimmed pubes sloppy with cum.

“Falling down on your maintenance, sweetheart.” Derek tenses and Jordan soothes. “Don’t worry, I’ll save corrections and a refresher on all the rules for when you’re feeling better.”

Going back to stripping his prize, Jordan keeps talking. “Yeah, you loved the idea too of a ring in your cock, or a cage. Maybe I'll let you have both. Another tattoo, a stud in your tongue, a thick leather collar.  You've been pestering me for any mark you can wear that shows I own you.”

Derek’s ass is so plush it takes a little work to pull his jeans off over it.  “Such a fat ass." Parrish teases. "Don't worry. I love it. It could even be bigger. Whatever the size though, It should be bare for me under there, always. Glad you remembered that at least.”

He stops pulling Derek’s jeans down at mid-thigh to stare at the wolf’s dick.  Still hard, it’s gotta measure nine inches and its thick, with a fat uncut head. Reaching down he grabs the sticky shaft and rubs a thumb over its cum-dewed tip.

“You’re always eager for me, aren’t you, baby.”

Sensitive from his climax Derek tries to shift his hips away from the touch but his body is too heavy now for him to move. Parrish grins at his pained little grunts and continues to torture Derek’s slit. Then his attention slips to his generous foreskin. He grabs the erect shaft and stokes it, forcing the soft dick-skin back and forth over Derek’s fat cock head.

“But you know better than to touch yourself. Don’t you? Even when you’re so stiff it hurts.” Parrish slips a finger between the head of Derek’s cock and the delicate flesh hooding it. It slides easily with all the slick he’s making.

“Even when you’re messy and your slut cock’s drooling. You know, outside of making it ready for me, to keep your hands off my property.

“Cause I’m the only one who can make you cum anymore. Isn’t that right? Only me. My hand, my mouth, my cock, my permission.”

Parish reaches his empty hand down and fills it with Derek’s fuzzy balls. They’re not bigger than his since undergoing his hellhound shift but they are still large and wonderfully heavy.

“All this belongs to me. You don’t need them anyway.” He gives Derek’s sac and his shaft a simultaneous squeeze.

“After all, it’s not like you’ve fucked anyone since we got together or ever will again. That’s not what gives you your greatest pleasure. Is it, Sweetheart?

"You need a real stud’s fat dick to feel good. A flood of cum that isn’t yours to really get relief.”

Jordan releases Derek and moves down to take off his boots and socks. “You’ll remember all of this when you’re feeling better. I know it.”

There’s the ‘shush’ of fabric as Derek’s jeans slide off completely.

Staring down on Derek, Parrish’s cock is granite. On his back on the bed, his legs are bent, dangling over its edge, thighs open. Derek’s arms are stretched out above him, still half-tangled in the sleeves of his spare shirt. Other than this, he is completely naked.

Dark lashes flutter hard as Derek fights to keep conscious. Parrish strips out of his own shoes and socks, his shirt too, and lays down beside him.

“I know you’re so tired,” he soothes. “But stay with me. You can’t sleep just yet. I’m not ready for you to go off to dreamland.”

He brushes the back of his hands softly over the sleek stubble on Derek’s jaw and Derek turns his head to look at him, though it clearly takes some effort. His expression is sorrowful and wondering.

“This… I’m so sorry. Something doesn’t feel right, Jordan.” A fat tear rolls down Derek’s cheek. He closes his eyes as Parrish sweeps it away with his thumb. “What’s… What’s wrong with me? I wanna be good for you.”

Derek draws a hitched breath and says in a rush before the last of his strength abandons him, “Please-don’t-be-mad.”

“Ssshhh, sweetheart.” Parrish brushes Derek’s lips with his tear-slicked digit. “Your dumb brain’s just being silly again. But don’t worry. I’m here for you, babe. Trust me and I’ll get you back on track again. Okay?”

Cupping Derek’s jaw, Jordan pulls him closer until their foreheads pressed together, his ice against Derek’s fever.. “How about some sweet Daddy kisses, huh? You love those. Always so hungry for a tender touch, you’d do just about anything.”

He moves in as Derek sniffles and their mouths meet for the first time. Derek’s eyes stay closed but Parrish’s remain open drinking in every detail of Derek’s first male on male mouth kiss. A quick glance down catches bare toes curling.

This and the way the wolf starts softly moaning as his mouth is dominated, oddly, is almost in itself enough to make him bust a nut right there like he was a middle-schooler. His cock leaks like a faucet but he’s not the only one clearly enjoying this going if the way Derek’s cock twitches and drools mean anything.

Lip to lip and slicking tongues, Derek responds so beautifully, not lax but never leading, and all the while making such soft pretty noises.

When Parrish finally pulls away, too heavy to open all the way the wolf gazes at him half-lidded and looking high.  He murmurs, slurred, “Thank you for taking care of me, Jordy.”

“Always. My sweet slut. As long as you remember ‘Jordy knows best’, it’s never an issue.” Jordan presses a last kiss to the corner of Derek’s sloppy, slack mouth.

Then he sits up and pulls his phone out of his back pocket and opens up the video feature. He keeps talking as he arranges it on the nightstand to capture what he hopes is the best angle.

“And I know just what you need to get really settled. Make all those bad feelings and silly thoughts really go away. Don’t want them to follow you into your dreams now, do we?”

It’s comical almost how clearly terrible Derek feels now about even voicing his concern, even though he’s barely holding to consciousness.

“Don’t feel too bad…” Camera set up Parrish settles back down and skims his fingers over the firm scales of sculpted abs, making them twitch. “I want you to tell me when you have those bad thoughts, baby. How else can I keep you out of trouble?”

He watches, enraptured as Derek’s straining cock lays down another bead of pre-come where it lays, fat and heavy against his belly.

“Speaking of which, there’s one more thing I need to give you to make you really feel better and then you can finally go to sleep. Okay?”

He’s not sure if his gentle command holds the power for Derek’s body to stave off the sedative a while longer. He’d like the wolf to be awake for this next part, although that’s more of a preference than a necessity, really.

He gives Derek’s cheek a not so light slap to aid his attention. It works. Derek starts at the unexpected sting of the blow and his shuttered eyes flicker open. Jordan grins and leans back so he can hits ‘record’ on his phone.

"Are you ready?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading.


End file.
